


Rescued

by astolat



Series: POI works [35]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: 2x02-Bad Code, Episode Tag, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"After my most recent experience, it seems extraordinarily reckless to give hostages to fortune," Harold said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rescued

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kass/gifts).



> This is set directly after 2x02-Bad Code (after John rescues Harold from the train station).

Harold sat stiffly in the car next to him, all the long night drive back to New York from the train station. They didn't speak. John gripped the wheel with both hands, stuck to seven miles over the speed limit, kept six car lengths clear ahead and behind. Harold glanced at him occasionally, streetlamps reflecting off his glasses.

It was three in the morning when John pulled the stolen car into a parking spot, near a bus stop half a mile from the loft. Sitting on the bus, John kept his hand on Harold's arm above the wrist, his fingers resting on the bandage. Harold was hurt. Root had hurt him. She'd taken him. John shut his eyes. He hadn't _wanted_ to kill anyone in a long time. He wanted to kill Root. He wanted to see her dead, to know she was dead.

Harold shifted on the seat next to him uneasily. It was their stop. John opened his eyes.

He led Harold up the stairs to the apartment, closed the door behind them. He locked it and engaged the security systems; he'd left the curtains drawn. Harold stood in the middle of the dark room without moving. John put his handgun on the table; he took off his jacket, his belt, his shirt.

Harold swallowed. "John," he said.

John crossed to him in the dark and cupped Harold's face. "I found you," he said, low. It wasn't reassurance: he was staking a claim of his own. Harold didn't try to deny it. Harold shut his eyes and let John kiss him, let John strip off his shirt -- carefully, carefully -- and let John take him to bed.

John put Harold on the side further from the door and curled up back to back with him. "Go to sleep," he said over his shoulder, and felt Harold's breaths even out after only a few moments, exhaustion and safety kicking in together. The warm solid heat of him felt right and familiar at John's back. John breathed deep.

Harold stirred first, the next morning. John woke with him instantly, coming to full alertness, and had a hand on Harold's arm before he jerked fully awake. Harold was trembling a little; he controlled it quick, but John knew that early-waking fear, the sour taste of not being completely sure you were out, you were in the clear. "It's okay," he said. "I'm here," and waited until the tension left Harold's arm, until Harold woke up the rest of the way, and then John leaned in and kissed him again.

"What is it?" he said, letting Harold's mouth go, tasting his reluctance. Limitations could be worked around, and he was pretty sure Harold knew that. It wasn't him; John knew that much.

"After my most recent experience, it seems extraordinarily reckless to give hostages to fortune," Harold said. "For either of us."

"You think Fortune doesn't have a line on us already?" John said softly.

"I suppose not," Harold said after a moment, and then his hand stole up around the back of John's neck, and drew him back down.

 


End file.
